


I Can Make it Holy

by thehufflepuffhobbit



Category: The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Comfort Sex, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, gandalf is a tease, only slight plot really
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-22
Updated: 2020-08-22
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:01:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26043892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thehufflepuffhobbit/pseuds/thehufflepuffhobbit
Summary: The war is on their doorstep and Pippin is just trying to not focus on how much he could die in the next few days. Luckily, Gandalf offers a distraction.
Relationships: Gandalf | Mithrandir/Pippin Took
Comments: 16
Kudos: 15





	I Can Make it Holy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [objectlesson](https://archiveofourown.org/users/objectlesson/gifts).



> This was inspired by one of the extended scenes from Return of the King, and some dialogue has been taken from that for the beginning. Gandalf and Pippin have amazing chemistry, I've always thought, and [objectlesson](https://archiveofourown.org/users/objectlesson/pseuds/objectlesson) just gave me a little push to act on it! I know this isn't a popular pairing, but it was still fun to write and I hope people enjoy it anyway.

"I suppose this is just a, uh, ceremonial possession," Pippin started, staring down at the livery that was strewn across the bed. He picked up the sword and drew it from the scabbard, just enough to see that it was actually, yes, a real sword, and promptly tried to hide how his eyes widened. He felt as though there was a rock or a frog firmly lodged in his throat that made his voice crack as he spoke again. "I mean, they don't actually expect me to do any fighting… Do they?" He glanced up at Gandalf, to notice that for once the wizard wasn't looking at him.

If he was looking for comfort, he should have known he would not get any from Gandalf. Instead, the older man chuckled around his pipe. "You're in the service of the Steward now. You'll have to do as you're told, Peregrin Took." Pippin resumed staring at the outfit as Gandalf muttered to himself. It was something that tended to happen; Gandalf would either look annoyed or fondly at him and then start muttering to himself.

Pippin had long since learned to tune it out, otherwise he might start pouting. The last thing he needed was confirmation that Gandalf found him more than a little useless.

However, the sound of coughing drew his attention, and he immediately poured the wizard a flagon of water and brought it to him. Gandalf flashed a smile down on him, his hand resting on Pippin's shoulder for a few seconds. It was these moments when he was sure that Gandalf did genuinely like him, though they were rare with everything else going on.

He supposed he should be grateful that Merry wasn't around to tease him about fixating on that touch when there was a war going on. His cousin had always been too amused with Pippin's fascination with the wizard. Or obsession, as Merry liked to call it.

He was pulled from his thoughts by the inky black of the sky. His brow furrowed as he looked at it. The sky was utterly black, like a bolt of fabric of the darkest color had been pulled over it. He had never seen so much emptiness. "There's no more stars," he breathed, still searching for a little pinprick of light somewhere. He glanced up at Gandalf and swallowed nervously. "Is it time?"

"Yes." The simple response carried with it a quiet finality, and Pippin clenched his jaw. He felt as cold as he had when Merry dared him to jump into the Brandywine River in the middle of winter all those years ago. He draped his arms over the railing of the balcony, his eyes inevitably drawn to Mordor ahead.

"It's so quiet."

"It's the deep breath before the plunge," Gandalf answered, his deep voice rumbling over Pippin in a way that made him shiver. He knew it would look as though he had done so out of fear, but in reality, the deep voice put some less than innocent thoughts in his head. Ones he had considered many times before, but this was hardly the time for them. He scowled to himself for letting himself think about sex at a time like this. He had spent all this time trying to make others, particularly Gandalf, see him as mature and here he was, fantasizing about that deep rumbling against his cock like a tween.

"I don't want to be in a battle," he rasped. He sucked in a sharp breath, letting himself focus again. There were bigger things in front of him, quite literally. "But waiting on the edge of one I can't escape is even worse." A noise from behind him made him look over his shoulder to see Gandalf drawing up beside him. "Is there any hope, Gandalf?" he asked, looking up at the wizard. "For Frodo and Sam?"

Gandalf braced his forearms on the railing beside him. Pippin leaned into his side slightly, seeking warmth and comfort from the wizard. "There never was much hope." Pippin's brow furrowed and he looked up at the taller man, sure that he had heard him wrong. Gandalf looked down at him, the beginnings of a smile pulling at his lips as he added, "just a fool's hope."

He wanted to laugh; he wanted to acknowledge Gandalf's use of his moniker, to respond to the affection in his gaze somehow, but he couldn't. The chill that he had felt earlier was growing, and all he could do was offer the slightest upturn of his lips. His eyes stayed on Gandalf as the wizard turned his gaze back to Mordor, letting out a deep sigh. "Our enemy is ready. His full strength gathered. Not only orcs, but men as well: legions of Haradrim from the south, mercenaries from the coast… All will answer Mordor's call." Gandalf rose, gripping the railing lightly. Pippin marveled at that; surely the tension in Gandalf's voice should have been reflected in his body. "This will be the end of Gondor as we know it. Here the hammer strike will fall hardest. If the river is taken, if the garrison at Osgiliath falls, the last defense of this city will be gone."

The certainty in Gandalf's voice, as though he was proclaiming a doom that would no doubt pass, only made the chill worse and he had to stop himself from leaning more into Gandalf's side. "But we have the White Wizard," he replied, forcing a hopeful smile. "That's got to count for something."

Gandalf never did like when Pippin pretended. It had taken him a while to pick up on that; the wizard didn't like willful ignorance, especially not from someone he expected better from. It had taken even longer for Pippin to realize that he fell in that category; no one had really expected much from him. Gandalf actually did expect things from him, though, and Pippin wasn't sure how to live up to that.

Gandalf sighed, turning again to Mordor. He straightened, his gaze never wavering, and any trace of a smile disappeared from Pippin's face as concern washed over him. Gandalf looked resigned - Pippin would never say he looked scared. His wizard - yes, his, and Merry could laugh all he wanted - didn't get scared. "Gandalf?"

Another sigh was his only answer for a moment. When Gandalf spoke, it was his typical explaining voice, but Pippin examined the wizard's face, noting the drawn eyes and slight frown, and that chill settled in the bottom of his stomach. "Sauron has yet to reveal his deadliest servant. The one who will lead Mordor's army in war. The one they say no living man can kill. The Witch-King of Angmar." The title wasn't familiar to Pippin, and he looked back at Gandalf, still not sure how this witch could compare to the White Wizard. "You've met him before," Gandalf continued. "He stabbed Frodo on Weathertop." Pippin swallowed nervously, the memory of that awful night, of his cousin's screams coming back to him, no matter how hard he tried to push them away most of the time. "He is the lord of the Nazgul, the greatest of the nine. Minas Morgul is his lair."

Before he could react, before he could really notice the way the chill in his body seemed to spread, a great spike of light shot up into the sky from the border of Mordor. Gandalf immediately straightened; his brow furrowed as he watched the swirling vortex. Pippin's instinct to stay close to the wizard meant that he straightened as well, taking a step back from the railing. Neither could rip their eyes away from whatever was happening - if he had been able to, Pippin might have run back into the room to grab his new sword. Whatever it was, it couldn't be good for any of them.

He was able to look away for a second. He needed Gandalf. Either to tell him what they should do or give some sort of guidance of how he should react. He was only met with the wizard's profile, barely turning towards him by the time Pippin's gaze landed on Mordor again. He felt that hand rest on his shoulder once more, just the gentlest encouragement to turn towards Gandalf, and Pippin eagerly responded. He felt as though he was trying to meld himself into the wizard's side, a place he had always felt safest despite it being the most dangerous place he could possibly be. He swallowed nervously, shivering in fear and anticipation of whatever was to come next.

"We come to it at last," Gandalf murmured. Pippin's head whipped up to look at him, more than a little impressed that any words could be conjured in a moment like this. "The great battle of our time."

Finally, Pippin sucked in a large, noisy breath, turning his face into Gandalf's stomach to blot out the light in front of them. "Now?" he whispered, barely audible to his own ears, but he was sure Gandalf would be able to hear him.

"No. We have some time to prepare. Dwelling on it right now will not help anything." The wizard's words were kind, and Pippin felt something loosen in his chest, a piece of the ice that had settled over him thaw and break away. He felt another hand against his curls, brushing it away from his face, and he took another deep breath, trying to ignore the slight whine that was buried within it because he wanted more. He always wanted more, always craved just a bit more than he should.

Even if it was something that he could ignore, Gandalf, apparently, could not. The hand stilled at the nape of his neck, and all Pippin could feel were those large fingers against the back of his neck and he needed to pull away, to make a quip or something to dispel the tension surrounding them, because that was what he was good for. Instead, he pressed his face more into Gandalf's stomach, quite comfortable and content to stay where he was in the wizard's arms. "Pippin?"

While the chill in his chest seemed to be disappearing, it was being replaced with a warmth that he was all too familiar with, and telling himself that now was _not the time_ did very little to send it away. He could count on one hand the amount of times that Gandalf had called him by his nickname, and that was doing more for him than when Boromir had agreed to passing the time with him and Merry. Pippin let out a sigh against the fabric of Gandalf's robes, his shoulders dropping as he let himself relax.

Really, what was the harm in trying? He had wanted Gandalf for months - years, though less seriously - and he could very well die in a few days. He had very little to lose here, and his Tookish sensibilities said that was the best time to shoot for the impossible.

"You did that on purpose," Pippin grumbled, his hands fisting in the white robes as his fear was replaced with nerves. Nervousness he could work with. He could work around it, make use of it to motivate him; nerves had been his ally before and they were far more beneficial than the bone chilling fear from moments before.

"Perhaps," Gandalf agreed. It felt as though the wizard was playing with one of his curls, but he couldn't be positive without looking. "Did it distract you?"

Yes, but more from want than from shock. "I have a feeling you know exactly what it did." The grumbling didn't leave his voice. He sounded more amused, which he was sure was exactly what Gandalf had been aiming for, just as he was sure that Gandalf was well aware of Pippin's fascination and desire towards him. Gandalf was the smartest person he knew, and Pippin was not exactly subtle, as Merry liked to remind him.

"Hobbits." Pippin heard Gandalf snort above him, the affection clear in his voice. "Ever focused on pleasure."

"There is a war going on," Pippin pointed out, raising his head just slightly. He hadn't been pushed away, hadn't been rejected, and yet he wasn't quite brave enough to meet Gandalf's eyes yet. "Can you really blame me on focusing on the small moments of possible happiness where I can find them?"

The hand began playing with his curls again, and he raised his head more until he could see Gandalf's expression. The wizard's gaze was on Pippin's hair, watching his own fingers twine around the hobbit's curly locks. One corner of Gandalf's lips quirked to the side, much to Pippin's surprise.

"No, I can't."

For the first time that night, a genuine smile tugged at Pippin's lips, and he finally felt the first stirrings of hope making his heart race. It may have only been hope at getting something that he wanted, and not hope that he would live to his next birthday, but it was still something, and he would let that hope carry him as long as it could. "So what are you going to do about that?" he asked, his voice wry as he rested his chin against Gandalf's belly.

A bark of a laugh escaped the wizard, and there was a familiar twinkle in his eye as he met Pippin's gaze. As though Pippin had managed to surprise him while also still being predictable. "You are so content to offer yourself up to me, just like that?"

There was no hesitation as Pippin nodded, his smile becoming more mischievous. "Even wizards need to relax every now and then." The swirling vortex of light behind him was firmly ignored. They could forget about the impending doom for a few hours, at least. He glanced pointedly at the bed, raising an eyebrow. "Besides, it's not as though you're the only one getting something out of this."

A teasing smile pulled at Gandalf's lips as he looked down at Pippin. “Does all your wisdom center around food and sex, Pippin?” The hand fell away from Pippin’s locks, and he was very aware of Gandalf’s eyes on him as he shivered slightly again, in anticipation rather than foolhardy want. Apparently his desire wasn’t as foolhardy as he thought. He couldn’t quite get past how quickly his most impossible desire was becoming a reality, but he was hardly going to question it. “We should go to bed.” 

“I have to have wisdom somewhere. Why not have it be on life’s pleasures?” Wisdom in war and magic and the evils of the world were _hard_ and he was surrounded by people who knew so much more about those things than he did. He, however, seemed to have far more knowledge on how to have fun and enjoy their - possibly tragically shortened - lives, which his companions did not seem to know anything about. 

Though, he had a feeling that Gandalf could give him a run for his money there, if the amused smirk on the wizard’s face was any indication. Of course Gandalf would have wisdom in all areas, even sex.

Pippin let himself be guided back into the room, not eager to leave Gandalf’s side until they reached the bed. With the prospect of a fun filled night before him, Pippin promptly shoved any thought of Mordor from his mind. Quickly putting the livery in the trunk at the foot of the bed served that purpose well; mentally and physically locking it away in a box. By the time he climbed on to the bed and stood up on it - a solution he had thought of in his many fantasies because he loved kissing and Gandalf was extremely tall - the wizard had divested himself of his outer robe, leaving him in only white trousers and a linen shirt that wasn’t unlike the one Pippin himself wore. 

“You’re eager,” Gandalf pointed out, amusement continuing to drip from his words, as he stepped closer to the bed. His eyes were raking over Pippin, probably taking in the slight tent in his trousers and the way his hands fluttered slightly, eager to be touching. 

“You’re not actually surprised, are you?”

Gandalf drew up to the side of the bed, and Pippin rested his hands on Gandalf’s shoulders automatically, fingers brushing against the wizard’s silky hair. “Not in the slightest.” He let out a huff of laughter and leaned forward, pressing his lips against Gandalf’s softly. It had only been a few months since he had been with Boromir, but this was something entirely different. Gandalf’s beard was soft against his chin and upper lip. He felt those hands - Pippin was always so aware of Gandalf’s hands and where they were in relation to him - rest on his hips, only slightly pulling him closer. Pippin wasted no time playing coy; it wasn’t something he did well, anyway. He licked at the seam of Gandalf’s lips, begging for permission. 

Somehow, he swore the wizard smirked before granting him access, but that thought was quickly forced away as their tongues met. Pippin wasn’t able to keep the whine from his voice at all. How was he supposed to, when kissing Gandalf, being held in his arms, felt so much better than anything he could have possibly imagined? He felt impossibly warm, as though his earlier chill had never existed and yet it was driving him further into the wizard’s arms until he was wholly devoured in his flame. The slight scratchiness of Gandalf’s beard was driving him mad and Pippin pressed further, his arms wrapping around his shoulders, and he would have shouted with joy as Gandalf’s arms tightened around his waist if his mouth hadn’t been otherwise occupied. 

This was why Pippin loved kissing so much. Sex was wonderful and definitely something he was looking forward to, but kissing Gandalf made him feel safe and wanted in ways that he had never felt before. Though, it was also quickly surprising. Gandalf nipped at Pippin’s bottom lip before sucking on it, as though to soothe the non-existent wound, and Pippin felt drunk as he tried to reconcile the move with how he had thought Gandalf would be in bed. 

Clearly, his expectations were off in the best sort of way. 

Gandalf took advantage of his surprise, his lips moving down Pippin’s face to his neck, leaving a wet trail of open mouthed kisses in his wake until he was nipping lightly at the hobbit’s collarbone. Pippin gasped, his fingers tangling in Gandalf’s locks as his eyes fluttered close. “Oh, this is very different than I was expecting,” Pippin moaned, tilting his neck to offer more space to do whatever Gandalf wanted. 

“Were you expecting me to just lie there?” The wizard’s deep voice rumbled over his skin, and he was sure he could hear Gandalf’s smirk in his words. It had to be magic that allowed Pippin to feel that rumbling in his very core. He shivered and pressed against Gandalf, his trapped cock pressing into the wizard’s stomach. 

“I don’t know,” he breathed, tugging the white locks until Gandalf’s lips were within reach again. “I just wasn’t expecting you to be a- AH-” At some point, Gandalf’s hands had wandered - Pippin had been too distracted by his lips, he was sure - and pressed against the front of Pippin’s trousers, providing just enough pressure and not nearly enough friction to make him lose his mind. “Tease,” he accused breathlessly, his fingers making quick work of the wizard’s shirt. 

Another rub to his trousers, just enough friction to be maddening and wholly unsatisfying, before Gandalf’s hands went to the edge of Pippin’s shirt and removed it quickly. “A tease? I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.” Gandalf couldn’t even keep the chuckle from his voice, making Pippin let out a laugh as well. “You wanted to have fun, did you not?”

“You’re going to drag this out, aren’t you?” Pippin bit lightly at the juncture between Gandalf’s jaw and his neck, the bristles of the wizard’s beard feeling foreign and intoxicating against his lips. 

“I can’t risk you forgetting it,” Gandalf hummed. His hands stilled to grip Pippin’s hips tightly, holding him in place. 

“That’s not very likely,” he pointed out, smiling to himself at getting a reaction out of the man. That simple grip was all the encouragement he really needed, and he continued nibbling and sucking his way down the wizard’s neck until he reached a chest littered with sparse, white hair. Gandalf let out a pleased sigh and loosened his grip so that Pippin could continue south, making a valiant effort to trace every bit of the exposed chest with his lips as he continued unbuttoning the shirt. 

Finally, he was able to get it undone and he pushed it from Gandalf’s shoulders. It made a muffled thud as it hit the floor, which Pippin paid no mind to as his fingers quickly found Gandalf’s trousers and set about loosening them. His heart pounded and he felt saliva flood his mouth as he realized, amazed, that his wrist was brushing over Gandalf’s cock as it tented the material. The very idea that he, Peregrin Took, had made the greatest wizard of their time hard was baffling and he didn’t think it was possible for him to be any harder. Just the idea that Gandalf wanted him even a fraction as much as Pippin wanted Gandalf was nearly enough to finish him.

The wizard seemed to realize that as well. Gandalf’s large hands had been wandering, tracing shapes over Pippin’s bare back and playing with his hair as Pippin had explored his torso, but they stilled as the trousers loosened. Suddenly, Gandalf drew his hands away and used them to encourage Pippin to lay back on the middle of the bed. Pippin couldn’t help but groan, but let himself be pushed back nonetheless. “Patience,” Gandalf chided. “Fair’s fair.” 

Pippin let out a huff, a playful smirk pulling at his lips, which caused Gandalf to roll his eyes. All Pippin could feel was the wizard’s gaze going over him once more. He may have been self conscious or tried to cover himself if Gandalf wasn’t pressing both his hands to the bed above his head. The only thing he could do was roll his hips up to rut against Gandalf’s stomach, finally getting some of the friction he craved. Gandalf smirked, his lips brushing over Pippin’s nipple before he licked the sensitive skin. “Did you need something?” Gandalf drawled, and Pippin groaned again, pressing his head back against the mattress. 

“I need you to touch me,” Pippin grumbled - or at least he tried to, it came out far too whiny to be considered a legitimate complaint. His hips rolled of their own accord, as did his eyes as Gandalf gently scraped his teeth over his nipple. He swore he could see stars from such a simple action and he was half tempted to keep Gandalf there, to see if he could come just from having his nipples played with. But the larger man was changing his grip, easily holding both of Pippin’s wrists in one hand while the other slipped between them and loosened the ties of Pippin’s trousers. 

“I think you’ll find that I am, in fact, touching you,” Gandalf replied, glancing up at him with a shit-eating grin. 

Pippin squirmed, his hips rising more pointedly. Gandalf may very well develop a bruise in his belly from how often the hobbit’s cock stabbed into it, and even though Pippin knew that was probably impossible, he would get a lot of satisfaction from it. “You know what I mean.” 

“Do I?” Gandalf’s voice lilted, and he could feel the wizard’s smile against his skin as his hand resumed untying Pippin’s trousers. Pippin keened as the head of his cock was exposed to the open air. He felt as though that small amount of freedom must feel like a gasp of air after being suffocated. His hips lifted again, and Gandalf pushed the trousers down as much as he could, which was actually far enough for Pippin to then kick them off, considering how long the wizard’s arms were. 

“Will you let my hands g-OH!” He had been expecting Gandalf’s hand. Pippin tried to mentally admonish himself for thinking that Gandalf would do anything according to his expectations, but his train of thought was quickly derailed by the continued gentle suction on the head of his cock. Pippin thrust into Gandalf’s mouth, eager for more, and whined in desperation as it left him instead. 

“Go? No, not yet. Patience is a virtue, Pippin.” One finger trailed down the underside of Pippin’s cock, making him shiver. All his attention was focused on Gandalf’s small touches, from the way he was holding the hobbit’s wrists still, to that finger going down, down, down, until it rubbed gently over his hole. Pippin whimpered, pressing his feet to the bed to lift his hips - either to allow Gandalf more access to his bum or get his dick closer to the wizard’s mouth again, he couldn’t say. 

“Not one I have,” he whimpered. Gandalf responded by chuckling and licking a thick trail from his berries to the stem of his cock. 

Gandalf let out a hum, pressing a kiss to Pippin’s hipbone. Pippin heard a rustling and he lifted his head slightly to look at what the wizard was doing. Oh, wasn’t that a sight, though? His cock was jutting up, proudly if he said so himself, and past it, Gandalf was pressing light kisses to the thick curls at the base, his eyes never leaving Pippin’s face. Just that view was enough to steal his breath away, and then he noticed Gandalf’s hand coming back to Pippin’s thigh, dropping a vial of oil at his side on the bed. Oh, sweet Yavanna, thank you. “Gandalf,” he breathed, his hips rolling pointedly once more. That bottle was a promise of what was to come, but Pippin wanted it _now_.

The wizard raised an eyebrow, his mouth too busy sucking on one of Pippin’s berries to speak. Pippin moaned, dropping his head back to the bed. It was too much to watch what Gandalf was doing to him. The short, teasing touches were bad enough, but seeing how much Gandalf was enjoying himself with Pippin’s body… it was too much to think about. He felt as though he was floating, and the only thing keeping him tethered to Arda was the wizard’s touches. He was all too aware when Gandalf removed his hand, leaving only his mouth around Pippin’s cock once more, and Pippin gasped as he felt like he was floating away once more. 

The _pop_ from the bottle drew him back, and he squirmed in anticipation. Finally, finally, Pippin felt Gandalf’s well-oiled finger at his hole, slowly rubbing around the rim, and all he could do was whimper. He needed more! He thrust into Gandalf’s mouth once more, which earned him that beautiful, deep, rumbling laugh against the head of his cock, exactly as he had fantasized so long ago. Pippin moaned, his hands straining against Gandalf’s grasp. He knew Gandalf was probably mentally chiding him, and indeed, the grip around his wrists tightened just slightly, but Pippin didn’t want to be patient. Sweet Yavanna, he wanted to be fucked into the mattress until he was nothing but a quivering, dripping mess right that moment. 

“I can always stop, you know,” Gandalf pointed out softly. Pippin’s head shot up, eyes wide, terrified that that possibility even entered the older man’s mind. “If you feel you can’t be patient, we can always stop and sleep.” The wizard raised an eyebrow at him, his lips red and shiny and hovering near Pippin’s cock. Pippin swallowed and rapidly shook his head, forcing his hands to relax in Gandalf’s grip. “Good boy,” Gandalf drawled, and Pippin knew that he shouldn’t find it as exciting as he did. Gandalf was teasing him, in every single sort of way, but even a sarcastic compliment made his cock twitch, and he was determined to prove that he could be… Well, he could be anything Gandalf wanted. 

Pippin let out a long breath and relaxed against the bed. Only his hips continued moving, rolling just slightly towards the wizard as Gandalf nipped at his inner thigh again. Apparently this showed enough of the patience that Gandalf wanted, as Pippin was rewarded with a finger pressing into his hole. It was only to the first knuckle, but it made him gasp loudly, and it took a moment before he forced himself to relax once again in the hopes that he would get more. Gandalf’s fingers were thick - Well, as thick as any Man’s, really, but far thicker than Pippin’s own. He knew, even if Gandalf hadn’t turned out to be the biggest tease in all of Arda, this wouldn’t be rushed. Gandalf would want him to feel good the entire time. Pippin had a feeling though, it would go far beyond that until Pippin was a crying, begging mess.

That was fine. He could beg, if that was what Gandalf wanted.

Pippin bore down on the finger. It may have been months, but he knew he could take more, and there was a part of him that craved that delicious burn before it all faded into pleasure. Gandalf nipped at his inner thigh, making Pippin squeal, but continued pressing his finger until it was fully sheathed. Pippin mentally bet himself a lavish elevenses the next day about Gandalf taking his sweet time to prepare him, and he couldn’t help the huff of laughter that escaped him as Gandalf proceeded to fuck him with that one finger torturously slow. Finally, he had been able to guess the wizard’s next move accurately, and he felt just a little bit proud of himself, even if the odds were very much in his favor either way. 

“Yavanna, Gandalf-” Pippin choked out. He was slowly being driven mad by that one finger, and he was sure he would be halfway to tearing his own hair out if he had use of his hands. He felt Gandalf’s soft laugh against the crease of his thigh, and was about to actually plead with him when Gandalf’s mouth was suckling at the head of his cock again and there were two fingers pressing against his hole. He didn’t have the brain capacity to figure out what he had said or done that gave him such a reward but he wasn’t going to question it. More importantly, he was _not_ going to ruin it. 

His head pressed against the mattress, holding his hips at an angle through sheer force of will so that Gandalf had no excuse to stop. Not that he needed it. “If you keep-” he swallowed thickly, trying to get his breathing under control. “If you keep doing that, I’m not going to last.” Which wasn’t horrible, obviously, but he had always wanted to come with Gandalf buried deep inside him, and if this was the only chance he got to fuck Gandalf before they all possibly died horribly, he would like it to touch on some of the things he had been obsessing over for the past few months. 

“You won’t.” The words were murmured against the side of his cock, and it felt as though Gandalf was trying to memorize every vein and curve of Pippin’s cock with his mouth. His cock twitched at the thought, and he let out a disbelieving hum. Two fingers entered him, spreading just slightly before they curled, and Pippin twitched, biting hard on his lip to give himself any sort of distraction to prevent him from hurtling over the edge. 

“You’re sure?” he whimpered. At least Gandalf was taking pity on him - that was it, he was sure of it; Gandalf seemed quite content to tease Pippin until the world ended - and the fingers thrusting inside him were faster, curling in a way that made Pippin forget how to breath. 

“Oh, I’m positive. You won’t come until I let you,” the wizard promised, and Pippin could practically hear Gandalf smile as the hobbit’s cock twitched once more. 

“Tease,” he whined as he tried and failed to stop himself from fucking himself on Gandalf’s fingers. 

Gandalf sucked on his inner thigh, his teeth and tongue claiming that particular area as his own. “Yes, I believe you’ve established that.” His tone made it sound as though he was merely speaking about the weather - as though his fingers weren’t buried inside Pippin, brushing against a spot inside that made him see stars, and there wasn’t a swirling vortex of doom outside their window - and it startled a mad laugh out of the hobbit that quickly dissolved into whimpers. 

Gandalf’s mouth returned to Pippin’s cock, taking it eagerly until the hobbit could feel Gandalf’s large nose in his curls and then dragging up, only to repeat the move again. There was too much sensation, and despite the wizard’s assurances, Pippin felt the familiar tightening deep in his belly, and he was getting closer and closer to that edge. He writhed on the bed, he was too close, too close-

And then it was gone. 

Pippin came crashing back to himself as any trace of Gandalf’s touch vanished, and his head shot up in confusion. They had to have been attacked or something while Pippin flirted with his orgasm, that was the only - no, Gandalf was still there, between Pippin’s legs, watching as the hobbit cycled through confusion to petulance to reluctance acceptance with a self-satisfied smirk on his face. 

“That was-” _mean, evil, right up there with the likes of Sauron, thank you,_ but any retort that Pippin might have uttered was thrown away as Gandalf’s fingers returned. A third was added to the collection, and Pippin sucked in a sharp breath. He was nearly there, he had to be. He didn’t know how much longer he could last without having Gandalf’s dick inside him. 

“That was…?” Gandalf asked softly, his tongue swirling luxuriously around Pippin’s cock. 

The hobbit choked down the less than kind responses, racking his brain for anything that might get him what he wanted faster. “Necessary,” he gritted out, his hands flexing once with a need to touch, but otherwise staying where they were. He could feel Gandalf’s lips curve as they pressed into his thigh, and Pippin moaned as the wizard’s fingers sped up, thrusting inside him in earnest now. The motion of it, the way Gandalf spread his fingers before withdrawing brought out a murmured litany of thanks from Pippin. 

It was only another few moments before Pippin felt himself approaching the edge again. If Gandalf continued hitting that spot or pressed his thumb against the underside of Pippin’s berries again or even just sucked on his cock for another moment, Pippin was going to fall off the edge entirely. “Gandalf, Gandalf,” he struggled lightly against the hands, writhing as he tried to resist. “Please! Please, Gandalf, I need you to fuck me. I need you, _now_ , please, please.” Pippin’s begging trailed off into whimpers as Gandalf’s touches slowed and then left again. The hobbit’s hands were released, and before he could really react, Gandalf hovered over him, capturing his lips harshly, plundering his mouth with his tongue as the wizard’s cock brushed against Pippin’s hole. 

Pippin spared a fraction of a thought to how that was possible - Gandalf had to have finished undoing his trousers when he took the vial out, which meant that he had been sitting on the floor with his cock exposed the whole time, which just made Pippin need him more - before his hands were scrambling over Gandalf’s chest and back, pulling him closer. Gandalf wasn’t touching him back, and Pippin pulled back from their kiss to look between their bodies. The wizard was coating his cock in oil with one hand, and Pippin humped at the air in anticipation, his own cock brushing against the wizard’s belly. “Yes, Eru, please, Gandalf!” 

“That wasn’t so hard, now was it,” the wizard asked, his lips moving over Pippin’s ear. There was no doubt in his mind that Gandalf knew how sensitive hobbit ears were and that he was doing that on absolute purpose. His conviction only strengthened as Gandalf gently scraped his teeth over the point, causing Pippin to shudder. 

Pippin clung to Gandalf as the wizard finally pushed forward. There was a slight burn, of course, but Gandalf’s teasing touches had done a well enough job preparing him and the discomfort quickly faded. Pippin was fairly certain he forgot how to breath entirely for a few seconds, and quickly sucked in a lungful, moaning as Gandalf continued until he was fully seated. “You have no idea how good you feel.” The wizard’s voice was barely a whisper against his ear, but it was more than enough. Pippin whined, leaning up to kiss Gandalf again, his hands pushing slightly on the wizard’s hips to encourage him to move. 

“Please.” Gandalf groaned against his lips, and it seemed as though the teasing was well and truly over now. The wizard’s thrusts were slower at first, still giving Pippin time to adjust, but that was unnecessary. He needed Gandalf to pound into him, to utterly destroy him until he had trouble walking for the next three days. Another moaned plea got him exactly what he wanted. Pippin was clinging to Gandalf as much as he could while the wizard set a punishing pace. 

There was never a hope of Pippin being quiet. He was hardly quiet during the teasing, and he lost whatever miniscule filter he had as soon as Gandalf entered him. Their small room was filled with Pippin’s moans and cries of the wizard’s name as Gandalf breathed harshly in his ear and offered short, quiet praise. 

He wasn’t going to last. The fact that he made it this far was a miracle, and Pippin had no reason to not let himself get thrown over that edge and into a free fall. “Gandalf! Oh, please, please, let me- I need to-” His fingers dug into the small of Gandalf’s back as the wizard groaned in his ear again. 

“You’re learning,” Gandalf murmured, dropping a soft kiss against the hobbit’s shoulder. It was a sharp contrast to his thrusts, and it only served to spur Pippin on. The wizard held himself up on one arm, the other snaking between them to stroke Pippin’s cock. It only took a few until he was coming with a soundless scream, white ribbons of pleasure landing on his belly. 

He had yet to come back to solid ground as Gandalf’s thrusts lost their rhythm and Pippin felt warmth suddenly coating his insides. He moaned weakly at the pulsing sensation of Gandalf’s orgasm, and made a silent promise to himself that next time, if there was a next time, he would hold off so that Gandalf’s orgasm could make him come. He could only imagine how good that would feel. 

“Fuck.” Pippin felt absolutely boneless. Gandalf pulled out and collapsed at Pippin’s side, and the hobbit immediately turned and curled against him. 

“Everything you dreamed of?” The wizard’s voice was quiet, but as teasing and amused as ever, and Pippin let out a huff of laughter as he encouraged Gandalf to rest his head on his chest, his fingers combing through his silky hair lazily. 

“More than. The best I’ve ever had, as I’m sure you know.” 

“It’s nice to be reminded.” Pippin’s eyes were drifting shut. He felt as though he had just sprinted across the entire Shire in record time, but his reward was a wizard’s head on his chest while said wizard carved shapes in the evidence of their lovemaking. “I’ll need you to do something for me tomorrow.” 

“Shhhh.” Pippin’s hand trailed down Gandalf’s back. “Whatever it is, you know I will, but it can wait. All of it-” The vortex outside, the war, Sauron, all of it- “It can all wait until the morning.” Gandalf nodded against his chest, settling against Pippin’s side as though he planned to sleep there. Pippin wouldn’t complain. He wasn’t going to be moving until the last possible moment. 

“Though-” Pip added, before either of them succumbed to sleep. An answering hum let him know that Gandalf was still awake. “I will be expecting a reward for whatever it is I’m doing tomorrow.” 

Pippin smirked as he felt Gandalf’s grin pressed into his ribcage. “Of course, dear.” 


End file.
